


Stockholm

by shalysha



Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega Castiel, Omega Castiel/Alpha Dean Winchester, Psychopath Dean Winchester, Serial Killer Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2018-12-24 08:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12009129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shalysha/pseuds/shalysha
Summary: This came to me. I've had a story in my head for a long time, but I have not yet been able to put it on paper, but I was in a weird mood and a sort of teaser came out of it.





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me. I've had a story in my head for a long time, but I have not yet been able to put it on paper, but I was in a weird mood and a sort of teaser came out of it.

 [](https://imgur.com/AX1L3de)

 

Do you ever feel, or _know,_ that you are not like everybody else? You are not normal, you don’t fit in and you feel alone. Do you know how it feels to be scared of your own thoughts? Know the feeling of thinking that maybe if you didn’t exist and never had existed at all would have made things easier for so many people? Do you have things inside your mind, urges in your body that you can’t control? You’ve tried so many times, but you always end up in the same place, the same failure as last time. And the satisfaction of having followed your deepest impulses only lasts so long and then you are left with nothing, just a big gaping empty. You will sit in a room staring at the wall thinking about everything and nothing and you will hear the echo of your soul. You feel like a shell. You feel broken. You feel… And you don’t cry, because there are no tears to be shed. Do you recognize this? Do you feel this way? Do you feel wrong?

 

Did other people make you feel this way?

 

Did some that are closest to you, make you feel this way?

 

Sometimes you know that you are different and when you finally confide in someone, a big accomplishment from your side, they will tell you that it’s normal. People will tell you that everybody feels different sometimes; that it is a part of life and that it is okay not to be normal. But do they ever really understand? Can someone ordinary really comprehend what it means to be on the outside?

 

You might be nodding right now. I might have struck a chord inside you and you know exactly the feelings I’m describing. I know them too, but this is not my story. This is the story of someone who really knew what all of this means, someone who takes these feelings to a whole other level. He knows he’s screwed together wrong and people have told him that they understand what he’s going through, but they don’t. They really don’t.

 

Because the dark urges inside him are not the obsessive-compulsive disorder kinds, they are not self-harm or the like. What he needs he is not able to tell you, he could be sent to an asylum if he told you his inner-most thoughts, but he would go to jail if he told you that he carries them out and makes them reality and that it is the most thrilling thing in the world. You would be disgusted when you heard how it makes his head rush and his heart beat like the loudest drum and his blood pulse hot through his veins whenever he looks at another of his masterpieces. You would be disgusted at the fact that he calls it a masterpiece, _art_. But to him it is one of the most beautiful things, the most idyllic and calming. For a while the uproar in his body is quiet.

 

He lives in a world where smell is one of the most important things, but he doesn’t smell anything, he doesn’t feel as everybody else does. He knows what home is, but he doesn’t recognize it as the scent that Sam always describes. The only thing that goes through his nostrils and that makes his heart beat is the blood.

 

He thought that nothing and no one would ever be able to fix him. He thought he would never find anything as beautiful as his art. But he was wrong. _And the scent…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you feel enticed feel free to subscribe to the story, hopefully it will get out of my head and onto here soon.


	2. A witness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very short, but at this time the story is coming down in glances and I just go along with it. Hopefully it will soon flow better.
> 
> This story has inspiration taken from the show (of course) as well as from Dexter. In the future, when we get further into the story, remember that this is an A/B/O society crafted from my mind so rules and norms doesn't follow reality.

Time stopped. Small specks of dust stood still in the air. The world froze around them. He was swimming in an ocean of blue while red lay at his feet. His heart was pounding in his chest, his head was spinning and the adrenalin was pushing his blood too fast through his veins.

 

Only one other person had seen him like this and words of anger and disgust had immediately followed. There was none of those feelings to detect here, no sorrow or fright either. There was a silent stunned surprise, eyes wide open and mouth slightly agape.

 

He felt naked under the intense gaze; the cerulean digging its way underneath his skin. The eye contact was unbreakable. He was caught.

 

Instincts told him _kill_ , but something gave him pause, there was a sweetness in the air. He couldn’t destroy a being so beautifully innocent although he might already have, but putting one of his bullets, or three of them, into an adolescent boy was something he was not willing to do.

 

He felt a drop fall from a fingertip and the young eyes caught the movement letting him loose of their chains. When the gaze that had held him settled on the body and the blood adorning the wooden floor his own followed. This was his art however macabre and disturbing it seemed to others.

 

The air shifted and he felt the presence of the boy beside him. He must have moved so light and swift across the planks, knowing every spot that creaked and avoiding it, to make no sounds at all. Dean was a deer caught in headlights a creature so easily spooked and it was as if the boy knew this.

 

“Beautiful,” the word was said like a whisper, so quiet he was sure he was not meant to have heard, still it struck a chord. No one had ever called it beautiful, no one beside himself.

 

And the boy knelt down beside the lifeless corpse sitting on his heels while blood seeped into his black slacks. Then he lay down and lying halfway on top of the body he hugged it tight. His chocolate hair was a contrast to the white, almost bald, of the elder man. And Dean had never seen anything as mesmerizing as seeing the red liquid spreading across the immaculate white of the boy’s dress-shirt.

 

He didn’t know what to do; he didn’t want to disturb this moment. The quiet moment of a goodbye between what he thought to be father and son. He had left a child without a parent. Not that he hadn’t done that before, but he had never had to look said kid in the eyes afterwards. But he had to get moving. Every minute he spent at the scene was a minute too much. If he had to all of the sudden rush out of there he could make mistakes and leave behind evidence.

 

The boy sat back up, “I don’t know why I did that. I guess I wanted to know what it felt like to hug him, but still he will never hug me back.” He stood up; the blood on his shirt formed a pattern almost like those ink spots a shrink will make you look at. He kept his eyes on the body, “So are you going to kill me now?” When Dean said nothing he continued with that quiet and polite voice “I understand you do not wish to leave any witnesses and I know that no matter how much I press that I will not tell a soul that would not be good enough, but…” he looked up once again obtaining eye contact, “If you kill me, please don’t let me lie beside this man. I want to die in my room, I want to be in the only place in this cold house that I feel warm and safe,” His eyes were pleading, “But ending up as a beautiful angel like this would be a better death than I could have ever dreamed of.”

 

The intense eye contact was unnerving. The usual sour tang of blood in the air was tinged with something slightly sugary, something he had never smelled before. “I-uh…” the fast and strong pounding of his heart was relentless, “I can’t… I can’t kill you,” he spoke almost in a whisper. The boy released him from his grasp once again and looked to the ground almost disappointed. “But I can’t let you live either. That doesn’t make much sense… I don’t know… This… I wasn’t expecting this. I didn’t prepare for this. I can’t… What the hell am I going to do?” He was grasping his temples in both hands and screwing his eyes shut trying to think; he knew he was rambling, thinking out loud.

 

“You could take me with you.”


	3. Welcome Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another lil' short chapter. So far the story is just starting out in baby steps, but I'm really honoured to see that some are already liking it so far.

As soon as he opened the door from the garage he heard Sam from somewhere in the house, “Thank God Dean,” the boy was following behind him as they walked into the kitchen. Sam kept talking and Dean could hear his footsteps on the stairs, “you were supposed to be home an hour ago, I was beginning to worry something went wrong that maybe you got caught or something, almost had me burning every piece of evidence in the house. What took you so long?” Just as he had asked the question he turned the corner of the doorway just as Dean was placing a cool glass of water on the table in front of the boy who had pulled his legs to his chest as he sat on one of the chairs at their kitchen table.

 

Sam stopped in his tracks, “Dean? Who is that? And what is he doing here?”

 

“You could say there was a bit of a problem…” Dean smiled nervously.

 

“A bit of a problem?!” Sam raised his voice, “Dean this is one big problem.”

 

Dean looked between Sam and the quiet boy, “Sam, maybe we should talk about this in another room,” Sam gave him that ‘are you stupid’-look Dean knew so well by now, “he’s not going to run anywhere, trust me.” And just when had Dean begun trusting this stranger he had known for just a few hours and that hadn’t said anything since they had left the other house.

 

Dean grabbed Sam by the elbow and led him into the main hallway, “Sam, I know this looks bad, but-“

 

“Bad?! Dean this is worse than bad, you brought some kid home with you! What were you thinking? Where did you even find him?” Dean looked at the floor like a kid knowing its in trouble, “The victim’s? Dean, are you out of your mind?! A witness!” Dean could see Sam slowly loosing it, he was talking hard and fast from pure frustration with his older brother.

 

“I just… Sam, I couldn’t kill him, okay?” He looked at the open doorway not far from where they were standing, it was silent, for all he knew the boy had already run away, but for some reason he didn’t mind if he had. “He’s just a kid Sam, what do you want me to do?”

 

“Since when do you care about whether he is a kid or not?”

 

“Dude, low blow. You know I don’t do it like that anymore, dad taught me…” he sighed resignedly, “I know what I am, Sam. But… There’s something about him this kid hasn’t done anything. This kid-“

 

“Castiel.”

 

Sam and Dean both turned their heads to see the kid leaned against the wooden doorframe, “What?” asked Dean.

 

“This kid is named Castiel,” it was all he said before he turned and went back to the kitchen.

 

Dean left Sam standing by the stairs and followed. In the kitchen the kid, Castiel, was already back in his seat wiping off the condensation off the side of the glass with a slender finger. Dean sat down in the chair opposite him, he studied the boy that for the first time didn’t seem to even want to look at him, those piercing blue eyes weren’t capturing him in their grip like they had earlier.

 

“Uhm, I’m Dean and this is my brother,” Sam was watching from the doorway acting cautious so Dean thought it best not to mention his brother’s name, “can I get you anything? I mean other than the water,” He didn’t know what to do, didn’t really know how to handle a teenager, “If you’re hungry I can fix something for you, I was going to make something for myself anyway,” he tried smiling as convincing as possible.

 

“I’m tired.”

 

Dean turned his head to look at Sam for guidance, “I’ll go find some clean sheets for the guest bedroom,” with that he disappeared back into the hall and soon after followed the creaking sound of the steps.

 

[ ](https://imgur.com/ynehcYG)

 

He was led up the stairs not long after the tall one had left. Upstairs there was a simple hall with two doors on each side and a round window at the end. They walked down to the last door on the left in silence; Dean opened the door signaling for him to enter.

 

The room was rather large but sparsely decorated. By one wall stood a queen size bed, to the left of the door stood a dresser, by the window directly opposite the bed sat an old recliner, but the very best thing was the window he was facing where he stood by the door, it was overlooking the garden and the broad windowsill made it almost like a little den. Clean sheets lay upon the mattress but the brother must had left for his own room.

 

“The bathroom is behind that wall,” Dean pointed to the wall by the bed, “and my bedroom is just across the hall if you need anything,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrug his shoulders and Castiel thought he seemed nervous, “just make yourself at… uhm, I’ll be downstairs.” Castiel noticed how Dean stopped mid-sentence as if, if he had said what he wanted to say ‘make yourself at home’ Castiel would have burst into tears at the loss of his own home, and maybe he actually should do just that, wouldn’t that be the normal thing to do? When you loose your dad, your home and your family on the same day. Shouldn’t he be distraught and inconsolable?

 

Dean turned to leave, “aren’t you going to lock my door or something?”

 

The man looked at the key that sat in the lock, “do I need to?” Castiel shook is head just the tiniest bit, “then I don’t see why it would be necessary. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

With that Castiel was left alone. The first thing he did was close the door. He needed some time for himself. He made the bed neatly like he had learned from home with not even a single wrinkle in the sheet and one corner turned down. He would have looked around, but there wasn’t much to study besides a small painting of a vase with bright yellow sunflowers. In the dresser he found nothing besides a woolly tan blanket in the bottom drawer, he laid it down on the cold white-painted wood of the windowsill and sat down with his back against the wall as he looked out at the darkness engulfing the unfamiliar neighborhood. The last few rays of light shining off of tiled rooftops.

 

He didn’t sleep that night; instead he sat in the window listening to the new sounds of strange dogs howling in the night, cats fighting in the back alleys, strangers roaming around in a strange house and at last to the silence that befell the town as its people slept. And he let his mind wander.


	4. Up and Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can apologise every time I post a chapter that it has been so long since the last update and tell you how demanding life as a student is, but that is just my general life... I can only write when I have time to enjoy it and inspiration that allows me to. So I never know how much time will past between updates - But I hope you enjoy my story anyway <3

He woke to the sound of a soft knock on the door, he was still sitting on the windowsill. He must have fallen asleep at some point. Another soft knock. His neck was hurting bad from the weird angle it had been in and he moved it side to side until it cracked and loosened.

 

“Cas? Are you awake?”

 

Cas? Was that short for Castiel? He couldn’t remember anyone calling him anything other than his full name. Except for Gabriel, Gabriel had always called him Cassie when they were younger.

 

“Uhm, Cas? I’m coming in,” Castiel swore he heard Dean pray under his breath as he opened the door to the room, “dear God, please tell me he didn’t jump out the window,” And he knew he hadn’t been meant to hear it.

 

“Good morning, Dean” Castiel swung his leg over the side of the sill, where he sat he could just about reach the floor with his toes.

 

Dean looked almost happy to see him there, a smile of relief crossing his face, “Cas, you’re up. And wearing the same clothes as yesterday?” It seemed as soon as he had said it he registered exactly what had come out of his mouth.

 

“I don’t have much else to wear,” he stated calmly. He was still wearing the bloody dress shirt underneath the hoodie Dean had been wearing at the time yesterday, which he had given to Castiel so as to cover him up. They hadn’t wanted to alarm by-passers as they walked quickly to the car Dean had parked a few blocks away from Castiel’s house. The house he had once lived in, it was not his house anymore, maybe it never really had been. Castiel had never felt at home in the house he had grown up in. He was pulled out of his thoughts.

 

“I know, of course, I’m sorry. I’ll figure something out,” he looked like he were thinking for a moment and then decided it could wait, “do you want anything to eat? I’ve made some breakfast.”

 

He wasn’t really hungry. Well, his stomach made grumbling noises, but the thought of food wasn’t appealing to him at the moment. He thought it best to just be polite, “I’ll be down in a little while.” Dean found that satisfying enough and left, closing the door after him.

 

[ ](https://imgur.com/ynehcYG)

 

It was nine in the morning; Sam had already left for the library to study. That morning Dean had expected some kind of comment from Sam, but it seemed his younger brother were leaving everything for Dean to figure out, but the silence was actually worse than had he shown some sort of anger or frustration.

 

Dean had spent the whole night and morning thinking about what his plan was going to be, but for the life of him he didn’t know. If he let the kid run how could he be certain he wouldn’t tell, Dean couldn’t kill him that was for sure. For now the plan was to take a day at a time and then maybe… What? Maybe what?

 

This kid, how old was he 13? He was not normal that was for sure. The way he had himself suggested Dean take him with him and the way he had hugged a corpse and letting blood soak his shirt and then still managed to look stoic.

 

Dean ran the events of yesterday over in his head again and again as he mindlessly scrambled some eggs, bread in the toaster and bacon sizzling beside him. The smell of bacon always calmed him, memories of family breakfast on Sundays chasing away troubles and stress.

 

When breakfast was done he looked at the timer on the oven, it was nine. He hadn’t heard any sounds from upstairs yet. Leaving the food for a minute he went up the stairs and down the hall. He stood outside the door for a while just listening for any signs of life on the other side but it was eerily quiet. He knocked on the door softly and unsure. There came no answer. He knocked again just the tiniest bit harder than before, “Cas? Are you awake?” the shortened version of the name rolled so easily off his tongue.

 

He felt a small spark of panic shoot up through his body as still no sounds were to be heard. Deciding to go in he called out a small warning just in case and prayed beneath his breath that the boy were still there. Dean could not face an empty room and curtains blowing in the wind from an open window. Sam would have his head if the kid had run away during the night.

 

Relief quickly washed all panic and tenseness from his veins as he saw Castiel in the window with eyes groggy, as had he only just awoken. He probably just had, the bed were still made and showed no signs of anyone sleeping in it. Dean felt a small smile as his previous worries disappeared and then stupidly he remarked on the kid still wearing the same clothes as the day before when he perfectly knew the kid had nothing else to wear. He had to figure that one out too. Castiel would be considered missing by now and the body in the living room would have been found, he couldn’t take him outside and it would be too conspicuous if he went buying clothes for a teenager by himself the day after a boy disappears.

 

When Castiel told him he would be down in a minute Dean went back downstairs and made himself a plate of the prepared food and sat down at the kitchen table. He had a whole new set of concerns to think about.

 

It didn’t take long before he could hear footsteps on the stairs and Castiel entered the kitchen, he stopped and looked at Dean for a minute, “uhm, the food is there on the counter, you can just take what you want. We have cereal too if you prefer that… And juice, milk, coffee, tea.” Dean listed about everything eatable in the fridge and in all the cabinets and Castiel just looked at him listening and when Dean had nothing more to list he went to the counter and grabbed a piece of toast. Sitting down opposite Dean, Castiel started nibbling on the crisp piece of bread.

 

Silence fell over them and Dean went back to his food trying to concentrate on eating, but the kid in front of him kept his eyes on his every movement and Dean found it to be very unnerving.

 

“So, what’s the deal with you?” Dean nearly choked on his eggs at the shear bluntness of the question.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You killed my father,” He said as if nothing else needed to be said.

 

“Oh…” Dean had no idea where the boy wanted to go with that, “Yeah, I guess I did.” He opted for vague.

 

“Are you a psychopath?” Dean was definitely not in the mood for all those questions at this time and chose to ignore the question, “you didn’t seem sorry or sad or even the slightest bit affected by my dads dead body.”

 

Dean was positively irritated now, “well you didn’t seem so concerned either so what’s the deal with you? Huh?” When Castiel didn’t answer he went back to the task of eating his meal, “Yeah, I didn’t think so, now shut the hell up and let me eat!”

 

As he ate, Castiel sat in the chair quietly watching him not daring to speak again, but he didn’t seem the tiniest bit intimidated by Dean’s outburst.

 

As Dean cleaned up after the meal he felt eyes on him at all times. His nerves felt as if they were slowly tightening inside his body and something bubbled underneath the surface as each second passed by with someone following his every movement so intensely. He was an animal in a cage at the zoo. When he was too strung out it was as if a string inside him gave under and snapped, he smashed a plate into the sink as he turned around in one quick movement shouting, “Don’t you have anything better to do?!”

 

Castiel stared at him blankly, “No, not really,” he said.

 

Dean slumped against the sink. Usually he spent his time alone watching TV, cooking and tinkering with the Impala, but now he had this kid to entertain somehow. He couldn’t spend every second of every day with Castiel, but he couldn’t just let him sit looking out the window for indefinite time. He had to find something for him to do.

 

[ ](https://imgur.com/ynehcYG)

 

Castiel quickly learned that Dean was not one for sharing with a stranger and that he did not like being watched, it made him act like an animal in a cage. Even though they hadn’t spent much time together Castiel definitely thought Dean to be an alpha; He was impulsive, strong and did not like being stared down on his own territory. You were never to provoke an alpha in their home.

 

It seemed Dean kept, maybe unintentionally, trying to intimidate Castiel and show that he was not to be messed with, but Cas had lived his life surrounded by alphas and he had learned not to respond to their animalistic instincts and traits. ‘Always stand your ground’ his father had told him an alpha stands tall and unmoving. Castiel wasn’t an alpha, not yet at least and probably never would be. His dad had seen weakness in him, maybe that had been why Castiel had been pushed so much harder than his siblings.

 

But Castiel really didn’t have anything better to do. It seemed he was going to stay at this place at least for a while, but he had nothing to pass time, he didn’t even know if he was allowed to use the television or look at the books in the living room.

 

As if reading his mind, Dean, now more calmed down, told him “You know, you can just make yourself at home. We have books and Netflix. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go out since we have neighbors and try not to be too visible in the windows. But beside going in to me and Sam’s room you can explore a bit if you want.” The air between them quickly felt lighter. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Just put everything back in its place.”

 

Castiel was left alone in the kitchen. He got up and started opening different cabinets, but he already knew what were to be found inside them since Dean had listed about everything that could be consumed in their kitchen.

 

Walking into the living room he let a finger trail over some of the titles on the spines of the books, he had always enjoyed reading. He recognized multiple titles, some he had read and some he had always wanted to. A few board games sat on the lowest shelves of the bookcase. It wasn’t because there was much to explore in here. Going in to the hallway curiosity led him to the door. The knob was round and the wear of the metal showed its use. It was cold against his skin and he turned it to the right. The door was unlocked. He glanced out at the street as he heard the shower turn on upstairs.

 

He quickly closed the door, where was he going to run? He went up the stairs wanting to go back to his room, but as he ascended something in the ceiling above the landing caught his eye. There was a hatch. Maybe if he grabbed a chair he could reach the string and pull it open.

 

He ran back down to the kitchen and grabbed one of the wooden chairs and brought it with him placing it underneath the square above him. On his toes he reached the string and pulled at it, hopping down from the chair he got it fully opened and the wooden ladder slowly extended itself till it reached the floor.

 

Carefully Castiel climbed up the small steps and into the darkness of the attic. Against his hands he felt the years of dirt and dust that had settled on what felt like rough wooden boards. As he stood he turned and looked around. The light coming from the floor beneath him through the square was not enough to see by, but he did catch the glimpse of a simple string hanging from somewhere above him. He took his chance and pulled on it and with a simple click a single light bulb turned on bathing old boxes and cobwebs in a yellow light.

 

For a fleeting moment he thought about whether the attic too was forbidden for him to enter just as Dean and Sam’s private rooms, but Dean hadn’t specified and Castiel saw the loophole as an opportunity for exploration.

 

On the wall at the far end of the attic, above the room that belonged to Dean and the room that now belonged to himself, there was a round window with four panes of thick blue glass letting only the smallest hint of daylight inside. Underneath it stood piles upon piles of old boxes and in the corner an old flowery armchair.

 

Castiel sat down on his knees and pulled a small box towards him. He blew at the dust on top and gave it a few swipes so that he could see the name written with a thick marker ‘Dean’. Something inside told him to put it away, go back down and forget about the attic, but he was curious. He was deep in his own thoughts when a sound behind him made him whip his whole body around loosing balance and falling back on his ass and elbows with the movement. His breath caught in his throat with the shock.

 

At the opening from where he had come stood Dean, well half of him actually since he had not climbed the whole way up. He had wet spiky hair, a bare chest and a towel around his neck. Castiel swallowed a lump in his throat. He felt his cheeks heat up and himself getting flustered. He was a teenager after all, he had no control of his body and right now the only thought he had was of the attractive man looking straight at him murder, blood and horror of yesterday forgotten.

 

“Cas? What are you doing up here?” Dean’s eyes zeroed in on him and the boxes around him.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeated his apology a couple of more times as he got to his feet, “I’ll go back down. I didn’t look in anything I promise.” He had been bad and he wouldn’t blame Dean if he locked him up for the rest of the day, he deserved it. He had crossed boundaries he knew he shouldn’t have. Maybe Dean would change his mind and kill him anyway. Can’t have a nosy kid lurking around his house. Castiel had managed to stay alive for an entire day with someone who had no problems with taking the life of someone if it pleased him that must be some sort of accomplishment.

 

[ ](https://imgur.com/ynehcYG)

 

Dean stood in the shower rinsing shampoo from his hair when he heard noises above him. Thinking it was probably a bird on the roof he ignored it, but then a floorboard creaked and he became alarmed. He turned of the water and stepped out of the tub. He dried of quickly letting the towel rest on his shoulders grabbing another to wrap around his waist.

 

He opened the bathroom door and called outside for Castiel, but there was no answer and no noise could be heard from downstairs or down the hall. In bare feet he stepped out into the hall. Going for the stairs he couldn’t have missed the open hatch. That certainly explained the rather fat bird he thought he had heard.

 

He stuck his head up over the edge of the attic floor and saw Castiel leaned over a small brown cardboard box. He scared the boy when he called his name once more and saw as he fell backwards. The fright was quickly replaced by something else Dean, but could not decipher what, but Castiel’s cheeks reddened and then the boy started apologizing profusely like a small kid afraid of the consequences to come. It was a reflex Dean recognized it as such. When you had learned to expect the worst when you didn’t abide, that impulse never really went away.

 

“Stop for a moment there, kid, I’m not angry. Actually you just gave me a good idea. I know there’s a couple of boxes up here with me and Sam’s old stuff. Y’know books, toys, clothes and stuff that we don’t use anymore. Maybe you can find something that fit you, something you like, maybe something to pass your time with. Don’t worry Cas, if there’s something you can’t take I’ll let you know.” He smiled reassuringly and saw Castiel relax both face and body. “You just look around.”


	5. Band Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know chapters are far apart, but university life sucks motivation and inspiration out of you. Hope you enjoy either way.

He could hear the sound of footsteps approaching him, “Good morning, Dean.” It was weird having someone in the house saying that to him that wasn’t Sam, he had to get used to the presence of Castiel at least until he figured things out.

 

“Good morning to you too, did you sleep well?” He turned away from the stove to greet him and was met by a very well dressed kid. He was wearing dark flannel pants, white dress shirt and a dark blue tie. The clothes were just the slightest bit too big on him and it all looked familiar. His hair was slicked back with what Dean would guess was his own gel.

 

“Aren’t you a bit overdressed for breakfast?”

 

Castiel looked down at himself, “at home this is what I always wore, it’s what we all wore. Dad wanted perfect and no less,” there was something in his expression but Dean didn’t know what, “I found a lot of clothes in the attic but most were flannel shirts and old band t-shirts, my instinct told me to wear this.”

 

“Wait, that’s my old suit for prom in like 9thor 10thgrade I think,” He hadn’t seen that outfit in many years, “Lisa could not get her hands of me that night.” That was a good memory, he hadn’t thought about her for years. They had been together for most of high school, but it had ended badly.

 

“If you do not wish for me to wear it, I can change.”

 

“It wasn’t like that, don’t sweat it, but kid, you gotta wear something more casual at some point. I bet there aren’t many suits in those boxes, if you want to avoid wearing the same thing everyday you’ve got to put on some Zeppelin.”

 

“Zeppelin?” Castiel looked at him weird.

 

“Yeah, the band t-shirts. I got all the great ones. I’m wearing Guns ‘n’ Roses right now, bought some new when I grew out of the old.” Dean smiled.

 

“Those were bands? I was talking about the ones with Mozart and Chopin.”

 

“Hold on there kid, those are Sam’s old nerdy blouses. So you’re telling me that you don’t know some of the greatest bands of all time?” Dean’s eyes were filled with skepticism he could not believe this.

 

“I think that is what I’m saying, yes. We were classically trained from home,” the kid just kept getting weirder and weirder to Dean as he stood there in his kitchen in a suit too big for his frame, his posture straight as a soldier, his vocabulary and pronunciation that of an English teacher and probably with a violin under his chin from the age of three.

 

“Classic? But these are the _classic_ rock gods! Oh, I’ve got a lot to teach you.” He felt his own enthusiasm as he was already thinking of what album to play him first, the best introduction into the world of rock, “But breakfast first.”

 

Dean turned back to the food he had forgotten on the stove; one second more and the bacon would have become more dust than crisp.

 

“Do you eat like this everyday, big breakfast and all?” Castiel was looming at his side.

 

“I like my bacon, but Sammy usually eats some god awful healthy sheets of paper with milk before he leaves to go study at the library, he has a cheat day on Sunday though.” Dean took the pan of the stove and put a piece of hot and greasy bacon into his mouth. He talked with food in his mouth, “But let me guess, in your home it was cereal every day?”

 

“It was, yes. Dad said it was healthier and we were not allowed to fill our stomachs with sugar and unnecessary carbs, but on Sundays we sometimes got a piece of whole grain toast and a fried egg.”

 

“What an exciting life you had there,” Dean said ironically, but Castiel didn’t seem to find it funny, “Your dad really dictated everything in your life huh? Funny how that doesn’t really surprise me.” Dean left Castiel for a second to yell up the stairs for Sam and then made himself a plate.

 

He sat down, but Castiel was still looking at him, “You don’t know my dad.”

 

“No, not really. What I meant was that given his type I-“

 

“You don’t know my dad!”

 

“Someone smells mad and irritated in here,” Sam entered the kitchen behind Dean. Dean looked over his shoulder to see Sam bite his own lip. Castiel did really look mad.

 

Sam leant down and whispered in his ear, “What did you say that made the kid reek like that? I think you should be careful that right there smells like smashing-plates-and-throwing-things-mad with just a hint of sadness.”

 

Dean didn’t get the change to say anything to any of them before Castiel stormed off and ran up the stairs the sound of his door slamming echoing through out the house. Dean must have really hit a nerve. He turned his attention back to his meal.

 

“Dean?”

 

“What?” Sam was looking at him with that weird look he always got when there was something he was expected to know but didn’t. Dean hated that look.

 

“You just pissed off a kid that you are holding captive in this house because you murdered his father. This kid has a window that can open and we have very helpful neighbors. I just hope he hasn’t already called for help.”

 

“Sam, he wouldn’t do that. The doors and windows have been unlocked and he hasn’t fled yet,” Dean stated.

 

“And you’ve known this kid for two days now, so you’re what? Best friends?”

 

“Why do you always have to be so smart,” Damn Sam and his smart-ass brains.

 

                                                                                        [](https://imgur.com/ynehcYG)

 

Castiel slammed the door behind him and just as he had did so he realized that it had been the first time he had ever done that and it felt good. At home with his father slamming a door had vile consequences. Gabriel used to slam the door often and after witnessing the punishment it earned him Castiel had never thought to do it even once. He stared at the closed door for a while as if it had offended him. But it was Dean that had offended him. He took a few steps backwards into the room and sat down on his bed.

 

Dean had talked about his father like he had known the man and Castiel had become offended when in fact Dean’s insinuations were correct. And maybe that is just why Castiel had reacted as he had. Castiel’s father had been a tyrant who ran the house with an iron fist and nothing was ever good enough. Deep down he knew he had hated that place so intently, but the upbringing his father had given him had a hold in him, a tree with roots so deep it would not let go.

 

He did not know how long he had sat there on the corner of the bed with his thoughts miles away when a soft knock sounded at the door, maybe it had only been a second or two since he had left the kitchen.

 

Dean did not wait for an answer before he pushed the door open and Castiel knew he was relieved that he hadn’t jumped out of the window. He also saw the trepidation in Dean as he looked around the room and at Castiel and opted to sit on the windowsill so a few meters of space was left between them.

 

“Castiel, I’m sorry that I –“

 

He would not hear it, “No, I’m sorry. I am only alive because you showed me mercy and I should be grateful. I will not act out again I promise.”

 

“I… Damn kid, I don’t mind a bit of uproar, it was rightly deserved. I should not have made presumptions about you old man,” but they were true, Castiel thought it and he bet Dean did so too. There was a pause where neither of them said anything, “maybe we need to talk,” Dean spoke at last, “You need to know that you being there,” he looked away from Castiel and seemed to focus on a spot on the floor, “You know, seeing what had happened, it was never a part of the plan. I did not expect anyone to besides your father to be in that house. And… You’re an innocent kid, I can’t kill you, but I can’t risk you telling anyone either. I don’t know what the plan is, but right now it seems I need you to stay here indefinitely for now.”

 

Castiel was happy with the honesty, but what Dean told him he had already figured out, “can I ask you some questions?”

 

“Of course,” Dean answered, “Whatever questions you have I’ll try to answer if it can make this situation any easier for you.”

 

“Why my father?”

 

“Okay kid, so uhm…” Castiel could see that the topic was not an easy one for Dean, he probably hadn’t ever had to explain himself like this “I’m basically a contract killer, a hit man, y’know?” Castiel nodded his understanding, “people come to me if they need something taken care of, that something being someone, and they pay me to fix it for them. But I don’t just kill anyone,” he was quick to add, “I work by my own moral compass. I don’t kill anyone that haven’t deserved it, or maybe that’s not the right way to put it, I don’t do a kill if I don’t think that removing that person will make the world a slightly better place.”

 

It was hard for Castiel to grasp, “So someone paid you to kill my father and you did so because he deserved it?”

 

“I know it’s complicated and not really easy to understand. But often people come to me with their own selfish reasons like wanting to remove competition for their company or some sort of revenge, but I never go in without a background check. With your father it was to eradicate an enemy for the costumer, but for me it was ridding the earth of a man who promoted laws that allowed discrimination of omegas. He was a politician with bad intentions and that qualified him,” Dean explained.

 

Castiel knew some about his father’s work, but he didn’t know everything. Hearing what Dean had to say about the man did not surprise him though. Castiel’s father had always taken much pride in being an alpha and having a family of purebred alphas alike.

 

“I think that is enough information for now, but if you have anything else to ask,” Dean let it hang in the air as he left Castiel alone in the room.

 

                                                                                 [](https://imgur.com/ynehcYG)

 

The kid stayed in the room for most of the day and Dean didn’t blame him. He also knew that many more questions were going to need an answer in the future.

 

It was late in the afternoon when Dean heard footsteps on the stairs. He was watching television with his back to the hall, but he knew it to be Castiel.

 

“What are you watching?” The kid moved around the couch and sat down on the opposite end from Dean.

 

“Peaky Blinders. You don’t know it?” He opted for casual small talk.

 

“No, we weren’t allowed to watch TV either,” Castiel shrugged and Dean even saw just the smallest hint of a smile as if the kid himself thought it ironic. He had really lived his life under a rock with all influences controlled by that man.

 

Dean paused the show and went into the main menu, “this is Netflix, and I don’t if you’re familiar with it, but you are free to use it.” Dean gave him a quick lesson in how he navigated around movies and series and made him a personal account so that he could gather his own list of shows he might like to see and also because Dean hated when a show he had no interest in showed up in his feed, but he kept that part quiet.

 

Castiel thanked Dean for the quick tutorial in the magical land of Netflix, “but you talked of some records at breakfast? The classic rock ones.”

 

Call Dean old school, but classic rock was to be listened to on records or cassette and not CD or any other modern crap. And that Cas showed an interested kick started the enthusiast in him. With the record player on the floor, Dean beside it sitting against the wall and Castiel sprawled across the couch they spent the evening listening to Zeppelin, Metallica, Guns’n Roses and even some classic hits from Queen when he found out Castiel had never heard of them either.

 

“I like the operatic part,” they were listening to Bohemian Rhapsody, “This Freddie Mercury must have been some kind of genius, I have never heard anyone mixing genres like this before.”

 

“But you only know one genre,” Dean joked, happy that Castiel huffed a small laugh.

 

“Well, now I know two.”


End file.
